


One Day in Some Far-Off Place

by grace_walton



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Angst with a Happy Ending, Could be triggering, F/M, Familial Abuse, M/M, Teen Runaways, Time Skips, not graphic but still, unknown identities
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-08
Updated: 2020-01-08
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:00:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22168264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grace_walton/pseuds/grace_walton
Summary: RichieAge 91985BeforeSick of being abused by his parents and bullied by the Bowers Gang, Richie decides to run away and live by himself in the woods. Richie expects quiet, and a fresh start, just him and nature. What he doesn't expect is to literally run into a small boy with no name and no memories hiding in a bush.EddieAge 161994AfterEddie loves his life. He's got two great best friends, a mother he loves, and a bedroom with a perfect view into the forest bordering Derry. But then one night he's woken up by a strange dream and an unknown voice calling out his name. Suddenly, and with the help of a few strangers, he's thrust headfirst into a world he doesn't quite understand, yet feels all too familiar, and a boy living in the woods with an affinity for poetry, who he can't seem to get out of his head.Inspired by poetry, the mysteries of nature, and the secrets of the human mind.
Relationships: Ben Hanscom/Beverly Marsh, Bill Denbrough/Stanley Uris, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 1
Kudos: 13





	One Day in Some Far-Off Place

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! I started writing this a couple years ago and thought I had lost the files when my computer broke. Thankfully they were recovered, as well as my love for the Loser's Club.
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

**Eddie**

**Age 16**

**1994**

**After**

_“Eds!”_

Eddie awoke with a start, his heart practically exploding in his chest. He raised a hand and pressed it against his chest, closing his eyes and inhaling deeply. _Just a dream_.

Next to him he could feel his best friend Ben roll over, still fast asleep. Eddie opened his eyes and pulled the duvet off his body, swinging his legs over the side of his bed. The moment his feet touched the cold floor he could feel himself tense, letting out a small hiss like when oil first touches a hot pan. Despite the fact that his mom liked to keep it as hot as the Sahara Desert in their house, his bedroom floor was somehow always cold.

Eddie made his way over to the window and looked out into the night, trying to calm his frazzled nerves. Outside his window he could see the stretch of road that ran perpendicular to his house, lined with parked cars and a few bikes. Across from that, all Eddie could see was forest.

Derry was a strangely shaped town; small and almost resembling a squashed eggplant. It spanned a few kilometers in width, and a few more in length, with most of the houses smallish and packed tightly together down three roads that branched off from one another, creating an “F” shape. The downtown area was completely separate from these streets, making the neighbourhood where Eddie and most of his friends lived seem like different worlds.

Eddie’s house was located at the bottom of the longest street, practically the edge of town. His street formed the stem of the “F”, and ran alongside the massive forest that seemed as much a part of the town as the library or the giant Paul Bunyan statue, even though Derry’s border ended where the asphalt met the dirt. Anything past that was unclaimed territory as far as Eddie knew.

And Eddie had a perfect view of it from his bedroom window.

Sometimes he liked to sneak out onto the roof and watch the trees, how they seemed to stretch out forever, covering the rest of the world. There was something about them that made him feel strangely comforted. Like they held a secret of his he knew they’d never tell.

When he was younger, he tried sneaking away into the trees, but before he could even take a step inside, he started hyperventilating. He tried again a few years later but the same thing happened and his mom had to drag him inside and stuff his inhaler into his mouth. Funny how the place that brought him such comfort was also the thing that triggered his asthma without fail.

Despite all that, the woods were his favourite place, even if he was never going to make it past the edge of the road.

Something shifted outside his window and he looked down at the street. To the right of his house, next to a lamppost, he saw a boy making his way speedily down the street. Even from afar Eddie recognized him instantly.

Bill Denbrough.

Eddie had seen Bill a few times at school, and they had a class together despite Bill being two years older—Eddie guessed he had been held back—but neither of them had ever spoken a word to each other besides _hey, do you have an eraser?_ One of the reasons for this was because Bill had a terrible stutter, and could only manage a few words at a time, another reason was because Bill was a weirdo. Not that there was anything wrong with being weird, Eddie knew everyone was a little weird, but Bill was on a whole other level. Exhibit A: wandering around town at—Eddie looked over his shoulder at his clock—3:30 in the morning. The only people awake in Derry at 3:30 in the morning were either drug addicts or people driving home from work, passing by on the freeway just to the right of Penobscot River, which lined the other side of Derry.

It was like the town was in its own little bubble, cut off from the rest of the world by a river, a forest, and the unseen forces of nature.

The lamppost flickered and Eddie’s thoughts were drawn back to Bill Denbrough and the small mental list he had begun creating. He loved making lists.

Exhibit B of why Bill was weird was that Bill didn’t have any friends. He was a complete loner, never seen sitting or socializing with anyone. And as a very sociable person, Eddie found it weird. Who would rather be alone than have friends?

Another weird thing was that Bill was good looking enough. He wasn't deformed in any way (besides his stutter, but you couldn't even _see_ that from the outside). He had that floppy red-brown hair that girls always seemed to like, and round brown eyes. Like a puppy. A very tall and skinny puppy. So, from the outside coming into Derry High, Bill could easily be assumed to be one of those popular kids who was always surrounded by people and had a girlfriend who was a cheerleader or something. Yet Bill never seemed interested in any of the girls in the school, or anyone, really.

Like Eddie said: _weird_.

Suddenly, Bill stopped. Instead of continuing on his way up the street towards where the majority of houses were, Bill looked both ways, and quickly crossed the street, right in the direction of the woods. Eddie watched as Bill hesitated for a moment, turning to check behind him—as if he was afraid he was being followed—and then looking right up to Eddie’s window.

Eddie gasped, frozen in place. He knew there was no way Bill could see him; there was a tree in his front lawn that blocked most of the view into his bedroom—plus it was night and the lights were off—but still, it felt like Bill was staring right at Eddie. His eyes seemed to glow in the strange mix of lamplight and shine of the full moon floating right above the woods. The sight stirred up something in Eddie’s gut, something that he had pushed down long ago, something that made his heart race.

After a moment, Bill looked away and disappeared right into the woods. Shocked, Eddie pushed his window open and leaned out trying to get a better look at where Bill had gone, but all he could see was a line of trees illuminated by the lamppost and nothing more.

He sighed, his breath coming out in a small cloud before leaning back in and wrapping his arms around his body, rubbing his skin for warmth. He remained there for a moment longer, eyes closed and letting the cool night air wash over him. He felt it seep into his lungs in waves, before dispersing throughout his body, over and over again. It wasn’t until he had been standing there for a few minutes that he remembered the dream that had woken him up.

 _Eds_ …

Eddie frowned; something bothered him about the dream. First of all, no one called him Eds; he had always hated nicknames, ever since he was little. But that wasn’t the thing bothering him; it was the voice. It had been a child’s voice, a young boy. He had sounded so desperate, so scared. Eddie had never heard anyone sound like that in his entire life. It gave him goosebumps all up and down his arms and legs that had nothing to do with the open window.

“Why the _truck_ is it so cold in here?” Ben murmured, shaking Eddie from his thoughts. He leaned forward and pulled his window closed.

“Sorry Ben.”

~ ~ ~

**Richie**

**Age 9**

**1985**

**Before**

“An _F_?” His dad jeered. “A fucking _F_?”

Richie flinched as his dad raised the report card above his head, readying for Richie’s response. When Richie remained silent his dad slapped him across the face with the paper anyway. It didn’t hurt really, but it did make Richie’s eyes water. His dad towered above him, eyes wild and breath reeking of cigarettes and god knows what else.

“You’re such a stupid kid, you know that?”

Richie gritted his teeth. “I know.” From the doorway his mom chuckled to herself, a half empty glass of wine in her hand.

“Didn’t e’en know they could give F’s in grade three.” She slurred, taking a sip.

“Shut it Maggie.” His dad snapped, averting his attention away from Richie for a moment to glare at his wife. She simply looked back, eyebrows raised in nonchalant challenge. Her eyes were glassy from a day’s worth of drinking and sleeping on the couch, so that even when they were staring Richie or his dad down, she seemed to almost be looking through them, into a whole other world.

Richie wished she would stay in _this_ world for a change. Or at least take him with her whenever she disappeared.

“Four.”

His dad’s attention was back on him in a minute: “What the fuck did you just say?”

“I’m in grade four. Not three.” Richie mumbled, his fingers curling into balls against his legs. He knew it was coming but the impact still made his heart jump.

His dad’s palm hit Richie’s cheek with enough force to knock him over, curling his body inwards in protection. He lay there for a moment before straightening up again, turning to look his dad in the eye.

“What’re you looking at you trash?” His dad said. Richie forced a smirk onto his face, refusing to let his parents see the pain pumping through his body instead of blood.

“Just your ugly mug.” He responded. His dad barely let him finish before grabbing him by the collar of his shirt and throwing him into the hallway. He landed hard and skidded across the floor, feeling his arm burning against the wood planks. He turned back to his parents; his dad stood in the doorway to the kitchen, face red and threatening to explode, his mom was behind him, looking slightly shocked despite her drunk reverie. Richie guessed neither of them had thought his dad still had that kind of strength in him. He was tall but had a gut that looked like he was carrying twins and skinny twig arms. If Richie took off his glasses and stood far enough away, his dad would resemble some sort of fat insect more than a man.

“Don’t you ever disrespect me like that again, boy!” His dad shouted, probably loud enough to be heard across town.

“Fuck you!” Richie screamed back, before scrambling to his feet and running out the front door and down the street. Behind him he could hear his dad yelling after him, but thankfully he didn’t bother chasing Richie down the street today.

Regardless, Richie kept running. There was no way in hell that bastard was going to see Richie Tozier cry. Richie would rather die than show them any sign of weakness.

After running so long he felt like his legs would give out on him, he stopped, hunching over with his hands on his knees. He could feel tears dripping down into his glasses, collecting at the rim in small pools. He pulled them off and began to wipe at the lenses furiously with the hem of his shirt. The worst thing about crying while wearing glasses was that tears are impossible to wipe off lenses. Like a cosmic _fuck you_.

When his glasses were as tear-free as possible, he slipped them back on and looked around. Somehow, he had ended up near the city centre, about a block away from the library. AKA, the home of his best friend Mike.

Both he and Mike were fairly bookish—though Richie would never admit it—and spent almost every day after school at the library; Richie to avoid going home, and Mike just because he loved reading, and could spend every waking moment in the library if not for his responsibilities on his family’s farm. Especially ever since his dad died. 

There was a fairly strong chance that Mike was there now, seeing as it was a Friday and Mike’s day off, so Richie headed towards the big cement building.

The moment Mike saw him, his eyes grew to the sizes of saucers and he was on his feet, stuffing whatever he was reading into his bag, grabbing Richie by the arm and dragging him to the pharmacy around the corner.

“I really don’t need this.” Richie laughed as Mike scanned the shelves, arms full of band aids and various disinfectants, most of which weren’t in English.

“Rich, have you seen yourself? You really do.” Mike turned and gave Richie the look that Mike’s mom sometimes gives the both of them when they’re being ridiculous. Richie felt a pang at the thought that his mom never bothers to look in his direction, save for when his dad is beating the living crap out of him. Richie shook off the feeling almost immediately. That had to be a bonus of growing up, the things that bother you as a child become easier to ignore as an adult.

He held up his hands in surrender as Mike swept past him towards the cashier. One nice thing about spending all his time at his family’s farm is that Mike gets a fairly hefty allowance. He handed the woman a twenty, telling her that she can keep the change before leading Richie outside.

“Should I ask?” Mike said, wiping at the burn on Richie’s arm with rubbing alcohol. Above them the sun was still high in the sky, despite it being late afternoon, a sign that summer was almost upon Derry. It was a change in season that Richie welcomed with open arms. He was seated on the sidewalk, back against the pharmacy with Mike knelt in front of him, fussing quietly. All around them was painted a yellowish orange and Richie could see the buds beginning to form on the trees in the small park across the street.

Richie closed his eyes and tilted his head up, trying to absorb any warmth the sun was giving him and ignoring the pain that shot up his arm and into his heart every time Mike would touch his burn.

He let out a breathy laugh. “Take a guess.”

“You still have a few weeks to get your grades back up.” Mike said comfortingly, applying a giant cotton bandage to Richie’s arm, wrapping it with gauze to keep it in place. He leant back and admired his work. Richie noticed that his skin had darkened slightly from working out in the sun all week, giving him a warm glow. It suited him.

“It was in art too. Who gives a fuck about art?” Richie said.

“You’re smart Rich, you’ll figure it out.” Mike said, leaning over to pack up all of his supplies. “Besides, it’s impossible to fail art, that’s like failing lunch.” Richie laughed at this, reaching over to knock Mike’s shoulder.

“What do you know homeschool kid?” He teased. Mike whacked Richie’s arm away jokingly.

“Well I know how to draw a damn picture for starters. Unlike some people here.” At this, Richie raised an eyebrow, signaling the beginning of a fight, and Mike better run if he knew what was good for him. Noting this, Mike began to shift onto his feet, hands gripping tightly onto the empty bandage and disinfectant boxes. Even if he were about to run for it, there was no way Mike was going to litter. He was such a good Samaritan.

Richie wiggled his eyebrows like a cartoon character and began to slowly get up as well. Mike watched him silently for a moment before he moved, jumping up and taking off down the street. Richie was on his heels in a minute, laughing and yelling back and forth.

“You’re so slow Rich!” Mike called over his shoulder.

“I’m just too occupied on planning how to seduce your mom! My brain only has so much space for one important thought at a time!” Richie yelled back. In front of him he can see Mike come to a halt so sudden Richie almost bumps into him. Richie’s heart immediately begins to thump, nervous that his mom joke took it too far. Mike’s dad died when Mike was little, and he knew sometimes Mike was still sensitive about it, but he never took Richie’s jokes seriously—

“Shut up.” Mike said, as if he could hear Richie’s thoughts running a mile a minute. He raised a finger and pointed down the street in front of them where he could see Henry Bowers and his gang of lugnuts hanging out outside of the movie theatre. They were only three years older than Richie and Mike, but looked as though they had hit puberty in second grade. They were also the resident bullies, and loved tormenting Richie, Mike and any other kids they deemed worthy of a couple good punches.

“Quick, let’s get out of here before they see us.” Mike said, pulling on Richie’s arm. Richie hesitated before letting Mike drag him away, eyes lingering on Henry Bowers’ narrow face until the last possible moment, anger bubbling up in his chest.

~ ~ ~

Richie kicked a rock into the river at the Barrens, hands shoved in his pockets.

“We shouldn’t let them scare us so much.” He mumbled. They were secluded on the bank of the river at the edge of the sewer system, a couple of feet away from the kissing bridge. It was the spot the two of them used whenever they were afraid of running into the Bowers Gang during the summer when the trees were full of leaves thick enough to shield them from the sight of anyone walking by. It was too early in the season to be completely hidden, but the spot still gave them the feeling of safety, and they usually found themselves unconsciously running down the familiar path and hopping over the railing of the bridge.

On the ground next to him Mike was chipping away at a stick with his pocket knife so it formed a sharp edge, calmly listening to Richie’s ranting.

“Do you seriously want _more_ bruises?” On instinct, Richie reached up to the bruise that had formed on his cheekbone.

“I’m just saying…” Richie grumbled. “I hate having to watch my back in my own town.”

Mike chuckled to himself, chipping another piece off of the stick. “Welcome to my world.” But Richie was too busy in his own head to hear him.

“I can’t go home, I can’t walk around town, there’s nowhere else to go except these damn woods. I’m sick of it.” Richie was pacing back and forth now, hands clenched into fists. “Sometimes I feel like it’d be better to just run off and live out here. Fake my death so no one comes looking for me.”

Richie was lying. Truthfully the thought had only just occurred to him this instant. But now that it had, it seemed so obvious that Richie was surprised he had never thought of it before.

“Or you could come live with me.” Mike suggested. Richie stopped and looked over at his friend, a small smile spreading across his face.

“Don’t kid me.” Richie said, reaching out to poke Mike’s back with his foot. He watched as Mike stood up and raised his “spear” in his hand, closed one of his eyes and launched it across the river without a word. Sometimes he wished that he could be as stoic as Mike, who always just accepted whatever came to him, and never let anything bother him. Although Richie knew the last part wasn’t true, that Mike was constantly hurting, he had a great way of covering it up that Richie wished he could master. Once again, he supposed that sort of thing just came with age.

Mike’s spear easily made it over the river, landing a few feet on the other side. Seeming pleased with himself, Mike nudged Richie with his shoulder.

“Come on, let’s sleep over at my place tonight. We can practice your art skills.” Richie only laughed in response, throwing his arm over Mike’s shoulders.

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think!


End file.
